Tiny Sparks
Of remembered dreamtime
Truth or a reflection
Who knows?
When all of truth seems up for question
Time just a sensation to watch light grow
and fade
All this can be reduced to little vibrations
Mind Dust
I am but atoms formed sexily, complexly
A creation, mentally
Who knows what truth there is
When even the seas seem so intent on their mysteries
Ebbing and flowing with eternal ease
With who knows what's energy
A Flux of truths
And all memory patched together
stitch by infinite stitch
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Music, Art, Dreams, Anarchy
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